


Science of a Soul

by Bakerstreethound



Category: Sleepy Hollow (1999)
Genre: F/M, Van Tassel, servant - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27342460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakerstreethound/pseuds/Bakerstreethound
Summary: As a servant in the Van Tassel household, you wouldn’t believe in a million years you’d attract the eye of a certain Constable Crane sent from London to investigate the mysterious murders happening in your small town.
Relationships: Ichabod Crane/Katrina Van Tassel, Ichabod Crane/You
Kudos: 9





	Science of a Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it’s spooky season so I couldn’t resist writing a fic from a Halloween movie I’ve come to love. I sincerely hope you all enjoy!

“It was a horseman, a dead one. Headless.” A terrified Ichabod gripped the sheets, his face pale in the moonlight.

“What is the meaning of this?” 

You turned to Katrina who now held the shaking fully grown man in her steady arms. 

“The Horseman has struck again.”

“Shit.”

“Don’t speak so!” Katrina admonished.

“Yeah, propriety matters so much when a murderous madman is running loose and everyone is quite literally, losing their heads. Well, Katrina, fuck propriety.”

“Would you both be quiet?” Ichabod, through some miracle, had regained his composure.

“Katrina, you can go.” He motioned with his unclenched hand, pulling away from her embrace. She shut the door without another word, but you had a feeling she was secretly harboring resentment towards you. After all, you were merely a servant girl with no connections, no fortune, and no family. 

“What’s the meaning of this, Ichabod?” 

“We’re about to catch ourselves a horseman.” 

His eyes gleamed in mischief before he tossed back the sheets, leaving you to admire his loose shirt exposing more of his pale pearlescent skin. 

“You’ve gone mad.”

“Not today, maybe in the future, perhaps. Turn around, dear.” 

You rolled your eyes, obeying his command as you occupied yourself with the dreary view of the moors. The fog hung low in the sky, wind whispering eerily in your ear. You loved these days, but couldn’t fathom, nor deal with anyone else being murdered. 

You wanted to get away from this hell, run away with Ichabod to London, where you’d imagined he’d welcome you with open arms. But what were you anyways? You had nothing to offer him but the very clothes on your back. 

“How do I look?” His breath, cool on your neck, sent an involuntary shudder down your spine. 

You turned on your heel, daring to loop an arm around his shoulders. Propriety be damned. The faintest smile graced your features as you leaned into him. 

“Presentable enough, dear.”

“Are you mocking me?”

You felt his hands, nimble and steady, his fine surgeon hands circle around your waist. You couldn’t think of anything else. The Van Tassels, the murderous horseman running rampant through the streets, the countless murders, all mattered for naught in that moment. 

When his lips met yours, all you felt was him, the man you knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Every beating of your heart you’d give him for another moment like this. Your pulse raged, thrumming as fiercely as the hooves of the horseman’s prized stallion. 

“Ichabod.” 

“Shh…” 

He brought a finger to your lips, smiling warmly. 

“There’s not much time. We’ve got ourselves a horseman to catch.”


End file.
